Designs
by lachlanrose
Summary: Heat…. spice… and a test of endurance. Marie plays dirty. Logan approves. W/R
1. Red Spice

**Title:** Designs  
**Author:** lachlanrose  
**Disclaimer:** Marvel owns the fun people. Dammit.  
**Feedback: **Yes, please! With henna on top? The good. The bad. The ugly, welcome….  
**Summary:** Heat…. spice… and a test of endurance. Marie plays dirty. Logan approves. W/R  
**Author's notes:** A companion story to Reflected. The same couple, a few months down the road. It's much in the same vein, (read: short and sensual). If you're inspired to try henna after reading this, please buy responsibly. I get mine from Catherine at Mehandi {dot} com. Her henna will give you a killer stain. Real henna is made from powdered henna leaves. It's green and stains your skin orange. Henna is NEVER black. Black "henna" is a chemical cocktail that will jack you up all kindsa ways. Play safe! I'll be slapping on my standard fic warning as usual. _This one is seriously adult, folks._ (Duh, it's still me! Heh.) **You have been warned.**

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**Designs**

I buzzed around all day. There were tons of little jobs to get done and I wanted to be ready when Logan arrived. It's funny how life works out, isn't it? It took almost a decade, but we'd finally transitioned from friends to lovers. And here I was answering the door in Logan's shirt once again. Only this time Houdini stayed under the furniture and we kissed at the door.

Now while the kiss was a real stunner, the best part was watching him as all the changes I'd made slowly invaded his senses one by one. He closed the door and then turned, simply standing there taking it all in.

The first thing he'd notice was probably the heat. I'd turned it way up so that it felt like a hot summer's afternoon in my tiny apartment. A warm oasis in the middle of winter. His sensitive nose twitched and wrinkled at the various smells as his eyes swept the room. It wasn't dark and romantic. I had the curtains open wide to let in the last of the evening winter light. Soft music played in the background, something with a Middle Eastern feel, ethnic with lots of drums and exotic instruments.

A quiet smile spread across his handsome face as he looked me up and down. "I think I'm overdressed, darlin'." He shucked off his leather coat with that easy carelessness men have and then stripped off with little ceremony. I watched. Like I wouldn't? You all know me... Lordy, he's a beautiful man.

Cocky too.

He made sure to toss his clothes over the chair that Houdini usually hides under. With every soft whump of fabric, a low growling could be heard. It amused me; that sort of playful needling between man and cat. No doubt payback for a few nights ago when Houdini bit Logan's feet while we were sleeping after... well, I'm sure you can guess what had worn us out.

His cock swung hypnotically as he walked naked over to the various bowls and dishes I had spread out on the coffee table. I brought him a drink and got one for myself too, nothing fancy. Just a cold beer to sip on while we settled ourselves on the couch. Well, he settled there. I knelt on the floor at his feet and giggled as he plucked softly at the shirt I was wearing. I got the message. He wanted to see me too while we talked.

His hand pushed it open, baring my breasts although he made no attempt to remove it just yet. He knows it generally takes me a little while to warm to the idea of being one hundred percent naked. He did, however, slip his hand inside to caress my nipple with a slow smile. I decided to leave it on (though unbuttoned!) for a while. If things went the way I'd hoped, we'd be seeing plenty of each other's naked skin for quite an extended period of time and truthfully, I wanted to tease him a bit. And also somewhere in the back of my mind was the awareness that I still wasn't totally at ease parading around naked in front of a man before he was engaged sexually. Not even after we'd been all over each other for the last three months.

His big body relaxed and he sat back, stretching out his long legs with a proprietary smirk. He'd claimed the couch. It was his. Houdini never touched it now, even when Logan wasn't here. Oh, he still took a sporting swipe at Logan on occasion, but even Houdini knows not to mess with something the Wolverine's claimed as his own. Their ongoing battle of wills was entertaining, to say the least.

Logan took a sip off his beer and gestured to the various bottles, bowls and other assorted items I had spread out. "You gonna tell me what all this is for? Or do I haveta guess?" He caressed my nape while he talked. He really was such a sensual man. I wanted this night to be a feast of the senses for him. Touch. Smell. Taste. Sight. Sound. All of it. Everything. An orgy of sensation.

I smiled. "Have you ever heard of mehndi, Logan?" He nodded. I wasn't surprised. He'd been on a lot of missions in interesting places over the years. "So you know it's the ancient art of body painting using a paste made from henna powder."

"Yeah." A laugh rumbled in his chest. "I've seen it before. Iraq. Afghanistan. Morocco. Egypt." His expression said he'd seen other things, bad things, in those places, too. I touched his hand gently in solidarity. He stroked my hair softly and the moment slipped from serious to playful once again.

"Well, depending on how daring you feel, this night could go a lot of different ways..." He was relaxed, but clearly interested. And he still hadn't stopped caressing my nape. He knows that gets to me.

"Tell me more."

"You up for trying something new... something a bit different...?"

"You gonna give me a hint, kid?"

I tossed out over my shoulder. "Orange fruit. Red spice... and a test of endurance."

His lips twitched. "Yours or mine?"

"Both."

"In that case, hell yeah. I'm up for whatever you got on deck."

"I thought with as good as you are with your hands, you might like to give applying it a whirl." His eyes flicked to mine. "And if you don't mind a bit of decoration on that gorgeous body of yours... I thought you might want a go at being my canvas, too."

His tongue appeared and wet his bottom lip, his face thoughtful. "Tattoos don't work on me."

Oh, sugar. There was disappointment all over how you said that. Not to worry. I've done my homework. I like to cover all my bases.

"That makes sense. If a needle is involved, you'd just heal."

He nodded. "Yeah. Sorry, baby."

"This doesn't use needles. It's just a stain. It should work just fine." I kissed him lightly. "And I might have also run it by Hank, too."

His eyebrow went up. "Hmph." That was his: 'I'm interested, tell me more' grunt. It made me laugh.

"It's a sensuous experience..."

And one I thought would be a delight for a sensual man like him. Besides, it was something that fit my particular talents well. I am crap with original creations, but I've got tons of books with intricate designs in them... and let's just say I don't have any trouble reproducing a single one of them.

"It's not permanent, right?"

I nodded. "It takes a day or so for the color to really develop and it stays a pretty reddish-brown for a week or so and then begins to fade. In a couple of weeks, it's gone entirely."

He cocked his head. "You sure?"

"You ever seen a single mark on me?" He ran a hand over my pale creamy skin.

"Not one that I didn't put there." That sexual heat was back in his eyes. It grew darker when I leafed through one of the books, removing a photo of my naked back from the pages and handing it to him.

He didn't have to ask if it was me. He knew my body well enough now to tell on his own. His gaze traced up the photo, following the ornate peacock on my back and the spray of stylized feathers that wrapped around my hip. The heat in his eyes grew more intense as he handed it back. He pushed the shirt from my body and swept his warm palm down the curve of my spine, over the pale unmarked skin. "Amazin'." His gaze drifted over the items I had spread out on the table. "Does it hurt?"

I got the impression he wasn't worried if I'd hurt him. He was wondering if it had ever hurt me. I smiled. "No. No pain. Just pleasure." As if I'd ever want to do anything to cause this beautiful man pain? And contrary to popular opinion, I'm not a big fan of it myself.

His lips twitched. "You said oranges, spice and endurance. Where's the endurance come in?"

I rubbed my hands together in anticipation. "Ahhh... well, you see... once the design goes on, it has to dry. The longer the better, but a couple of hours at least." His eyes were positively burning now. "So it can be hard... or _harder_... depending on what we wind up unable to touch when it's all said and done."

"Mmph." I could see him turning it all over in his sharp mind, working it out. If I put one on his back then he'd have to have me on his knees... if he put one on my front, he'd have to take me from behind. The combinations were nearly limitless. I wondered if he'd worked all the angles out. If I did his hands, then he'd be unable to touch at all... and what wonderful torment that would be for us both.

"The color that develops is unique to each person's individual body chemistry, but warmth helps." Hence the summery feel in my apartment in the dead of winter. "The idea is while you're waiting, you drink hot drinks and think hot thoughts..." I ran my hand down his belly where it nestled in the thicket of dark curls and then slipped lower to cup his soft, heavy scrotum. "During which time, the designs are misted with a mixture of lemon juice and sugar so that it forms a sort of candy crust." I gently rolled his lightly furred sac in my fingers. "A mist that can also be applied to any place without a design for the purpose of licking-" A low groan from him cut me off. "You game?"

"Fuck yeah." His answer came out on a rough sigh. "Have mercy..." And then his quiet laugh shook his chest. "Just not too much mercy, darlin'. I like a good battle of wills." Don't I know it? Drinking down the last of his beer, he sat forward and smiled knowingly as the movement drew my eye to his heavy cock, which hung between his thighs, already thickening with the beginnings of an impressive erection. "What do we do first?"

I had done some preparation, but not all of it. I thought with as sensual as he is, he would enjoy the process more if he got to experience it from beginning to end. I spooned out some henna powder into an empty bowl and reached for a wedge from a dish of lemons I'd sliced earlier. After squeezing in the proper amount, I licked my fingers and made a face. Logan laughed and licked my thumb with a little shiver. I thought he might. He was the sort to want to experience every taste and sensation.

"It's green," he said, looking at the powder.

"Yes. It'll turn black as it dries and falls off, leaving a bright orange stain behind that darkens as it oxidizes." I added a little honey and some cooled tea, and stirred until it was the right consistency, a bit like thick mustard. The distinctive scent perfumed the air. It was strong. Fecund. Earthy, like damp clay.

Logan's nostrils flared. "Smells like mescal," was all he said. I wondered what memories the scent stirred for him, but I didn't ask.

"It just needs a bit of oil now. Your choice." I motioned to a few bottles of essential oils I'd gathered for him to choose from. He fingered them. Tea tree. Cardamom. Ravensara. Cajeput. Cedarwood. Lavender. I thought he might smell them first but it was obvious he had a clear preference as he handed me the bottle of cardamom oil with a grin that said that particular scent held some memories for him as well. It made me feel good inside to be adding to them.

I finished preparing the paste and set it aside as it needed to rest overnight for the dye to release. Logan's eyebrows went up at that little detail. I took out the henna I'd prepared yesterday. He smiled. It grew wider as he realized I'd anticipated the scent he'd choose. I did have him in my head, after all. I split the paste between two bottles with little metal tips to make applying it to the skin easier.

He was watching intently. Curious.

"It flows better at room temperature and needs about twenty minutes to warm up," I explained as I finished up.

"So what do we do until then?" Taking his hand in mine, I pulled him down to kneel on the floor with me and placed a bowl of fragrant orangewater between us. I smiled at the way he couldn't resist dipping his fingers into it. He held them to his face. "What's in this? Smells like..." He closed his eyes. "...oranges n'spice."

I dipped my fingers into the water too. "Water. Cloves. Orange rind. A splash of Everclear." His eyes opened. "It's used to cleanse the skin of oils so the color takes better." I tucked a small cloth into his big hands. "Rosewater can also be used-" He made a face and I laughed, "But I thought you might like this better."

"Oh yeah." He dipped the cloth in the orangewater and went straight for my breasts. Do I know my man, or what?

"It's edible too..." Come on. This is _me_ we're talking about here. Taste is as important as sight and sound. To say nothing of the sensuousness of scent and the erotic nature of touch.

We took turns dipping the cloth in the bowl and washing each other. Licking away the tickling little trickles. Teasing each other. We certainly washed more skin than we would ever want to cover with henna... but that was half the fun. Anticipation. Did the other person wash that particular bit of skin in preparation... or simply for fun? He shivered when I washed the sensitive skin between his legs and draped the cool cloth around his cock. It was thick and plump and grew more firm and heavy with each pass of the cloth.

We dripped and giggled and fooled around, cleaning each other bit by bit between all the kissing and fondling until every inch of our skin smelled lightly of oranges. One could say waiting a bit for the henna to warm was certainly no hardship. In fact, there was a time or two when we nearly forgot about it entirely. Eventually the orangewater and the cloth were set aside as we got a bit distracted... Logan is a tricky one that way.

He was kissing me and I was sighing, and then he had my leg wrapped around his waist and was pushing inside with a soft grunt.

Coming to my senses a bit, I pushed him away. He tipped his head at me, withdrew and said, "Just testin' your endurance, darlin'."

"Just you wait... I've got plans for you." We slipped back down to the floor by the coffee table.

He made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort. "A man can only hope." I traced my fingers over his warm skin.

"On your stomach, sugar."

"Isn't that my line?" I rolled my eyes with a giggle. He shifted positions and I handed him a silky throw pillow from the couch to rest his head on while I worked.

I picked up a bottle and started on his upper back, drawing thick tribal whorls and lines, curling around his neck, across his wide shoulders and down to the small of his back. He closed his eyes and sighed. "You're right. This is nice, kid." I could feel him relaxing. Giving himself over to me. To the experience.

"Good." I worked on, blinking back tears now at the smooth, beautiful skin. So much pain. So many invisible scars. While I worked, we talked about everything and nothing. Deep things. Little things. Erotic things. He wiggled more when we talked about sex. That made me smile. This was definitely getting to him. When he couldn't sit still a moment longer, I pressed the bottle into his hands.

"You ready, cowboy?" He pulled me up until I was kneeling in front of him, caressing my breast gently, but then he stopped. The tip of the bottle hovered over my skin. He was hesitant. "Go on..."

His eyes flicked up to mine. "I dunno know what ta do..." his voice trailed off as he mapped my flesh with his eyes. "What if I fuck up?"

I touched his hand softly. "Does it matter? Nobody but you will ever see it." Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly and drew a shaky circle around my nipple. I smiled. "Logan?" Warm hazel eyes flashed under a brow furrowed with concentration. "What happens when you hold a gun tentatively and are hesitant to use it?" He should know. He was the one who taught me to shoot.

"You can't aim for shit," he tossed out casually.

I eased his grip on the bottle. "Think of this the same way, like an extension of your hand, the same way your claws are. Just have fun. Relax. Let it flow and just draw whatever comes to mind." This time when the tip moved over my skin, it was more fluid. A spiral appeared. Circles. By the time he got to the waves, the motion was flawlessly smooth. Koi followed. Japanese characters. A lotus blossom. A crane. His tongue peeped out as he worked. It amused me that while he covered one breast with swirls and loops, he left the other bare of adornment. The only reason he'd have done that was because he wanted to put his mouth there later.

I shivered.

He nipped at my neck. "Be still."

"Mmm…." Have I mentioned how much I love it when he tells me what to do in his sex voice? God.

"Up." I obeyed his soft order, smiling inwardly because he'd slipped into that place where time becomes meaningless and you're just following the design you see in your head. It's hard to describe. Not only that, the process itself is a bit addicting. Once you start it's hard to stop. It gets to a point where every dip and hollow, every mole and imperfection becomes an inspiration driving you onward. He started at my nipple. Followed the line of my rib to my navel. Now he'd curled a stylized wave around my hip and was biting his lip in concentration as he doodled on my bottom. No remarks from the peanut gallery about the size of that canvas, huh?

He paused, looking up at me. One of his hands was on the bottle. The other was lightly ruffling the hair between my legs. He opened his mouth and shut it again. I had a pretty good idea what he wanted to know.

"I've been putting henna on my friends for years and I've had it done on myself tons of times. It's an expensive habit, but this is the first time for me like this...naked and...well, you know..." Intimate. Sexual. Erotic. I felt him go back to work, a cold swirl that I had to fight not to rub at. I'd never had henna on my butt before.

"How come?" See, that's one of the interesting things about that place your mind goes when you do this. Busy with form and pattern and detail, you can find yourself being more free with speech than you otherwise might be. This was certainly true of Logan, who wasn't generally a man of many words.

I felt a little uncomfortable, unsure whether I wanted to share so much of something that was so private. Even with him. I wonder what that means?

"Why do you do that?" he asked softly, still not stopping the addictive whorls and dots.

"Do what?" I was stalling and we both knew it.

"Trust a man only so far'n then pull back."

"Because I trusted the wrong person once." See. I told you everyone still had journeys to make and crosses to bear. And this one was mine. Well, one of them, anyway.

"What happened?"

"There was this guy, someone I knew in college... a long time ago. We were both a little tipsy and he asked me to share a fantasy with him. Something private." I blushed. "I told him I would if he promised not to tell anyone. He did. So I told him." The memory of it has the power to affect me even now. "A few nights later I heard him going on at the bar – in detail – about my fantasy as if he was talking about the weather."

A growl rumbled low in his chest.

I felt his touch on my leg. "I'm sorry, darlin'."

"I thought he was my friend, you know? What kind of man does that?"

"A shitty one. A real man woulda kept his fuckin' mouth shut." His words were punctuated by the touch of his lips on my hip. So soft. I could feel the moist warmth of his breath. "You shared somethin' private with him, and you got burned, but you can't judge the rest of us by one immature asshole."

"I know."

His touch on my leg was intimate and seemed to say that he wouldn't ever hurt me like that, but I knew that instinctively. I wouldn't have climbed into his truck all those years ago otherwise.

"So what happened?"

I sighed. "I gave him a black eye and then introduced Remy to the girl he really liked."

"Jesus."

"I was pissed."

Logan smiled knowingly. He must have felt the tension in my body that old memory triggered. He stroked me slowly. Softly. As one might gentle an animal. But there was a firmness too, a surety that calmed me.

"Not all of us are like that."

"You're _nothing_ like he was." Frankly, I was surprised at the vehemence in my voice. That had happened years ago and it was so strange – and somewhat cathartic – to talk about it after all this time. It almost felt like I was putting down a weight I'd carried for years.

"Good," he grunted.

He drew a lazy spiral on my skin. When I looked down, he was decorating my ankle and putting a last few dots down my foot. Dancing away, I picked up my bottle, ready to finish what I'd started on his body. "Your turn to stand." He rose with that predatory grace I find so addictive. God, it makes me just want to get down on my knees for him. My whole body shuddered. He had an erection. I raised an eyebrow. He grinned.

"I want to do a mandala around your navel." He looked at me as if to say, _'Well, go right ahead, darlin'. Have at it...'_ I would have done it, but there was a massive cock in my way. One that stubbornly bounced back no matter how many times I pushed it down. I wrapped one of his hands around it and smiled sweetly. "If you could just hold that out of my way...?"

He groaned softly and then chuckled as I slapped at him when he started stroking it slowly instead of holding it to the side.

"Logan!"

"Yes, ma'am?" I couldn't help myself. His voice was just so low and dirty... I only took the smallest lick, I swear. His groan got a whole lot lower and a hell of a lot dirtier. Damn him. He knows what that sound does to me. I just laughed and set to work with the taste of him on my lips.

Endurance? He hadn't seen anything yet….

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Up next: **Chocolate Kisses**. Okay, you all know where it's going from here…. Heh. Marie plays dirty. Logan's definitely on board with that plan. But even the Wolverine's endurance has limits…


	2. Chocolate Kisses

**Chocolate Kisses**

When I was finished, I had Logan sit. Pity for him it was a bit awkward because he had to stay perched on the edge of the ottoman rather than reclining back on account of the heavy tribal designs drying all down his back... but I was a girl with a plan. A very wicked plan... And there was the added bonus of the spectacular view as I knelt to do the tops of his feet. Just the sight of his swollen cock jutting up awkwardly from his lap made my mouth water. A fact he was more than aware of. He kept shifting so it would bob and draw my attention.

And then I moved in for the kill.

"Hands next please, sugar."

His head came up fast.

"My hands?" You could see him working out exactly what that would mean. Once I did them, he wouldn't be able to touch me. Or himself. Which was exactly where I wanted him. Helpless. Dependent on me for his pleasure. Oh, I am a wicked, wicked girl.

He did give them to me. Palms down. Fine with me. I can play that game. With a smile, I carefully decorated the tops of his fingers with a series of masculine lines and geometric shapes... and then, just when he'd breathed what seemed a sigh of relief, I kissed him. "Now your palms, cowboy."

The look on his face was priceless. His chin came up and I saw his throat work as he swallowed. The fierce light of determination burned brightly in his eyes as he turned them over, almost daring me to continue. So I set straight to work, naturally. When I was finished, I misted both of us with the lemon sugar mixture. After a few tastes, naturally... And then came the part of the evening I'd been looking forward to the most. The waiting.

Logan didn't go down without a fight. He used every trick in the book, starting with a request to answer nature's call. Nobody would ever accuse him of being shy. He gave me this look, held up his hands and said, "Well I can't fuckin' do it, now can I? I'd hate to screw up all this real fine work..." So we both had a pee. Don't ask how I managed with one cheek covered in henna. I'm a southern lady. We don't talk about such things...

So then the next step. I had the heat up, but I still lit a few candles and then brewed up a very special pot of tea. It's an exotic blend made primarily of yohimbe bark, cinnamon and cloves. It's a natural aphrodisiac that increases blood flow and stimulates the chemical reactions in the body that enhance arousal. I made a pot for Bobby and John once. They claimed it did nothing... but Bobby was back two nights later ready to sell me his firstborn if I'd just let on where I bought it.

Everything was a sensory experience and seemed to take twice as long as usual as we moved carefully, trying to make sure we didn't ruin all our hard work. Logan couldn't use his hands for anything, obviously. So at first I tried to hold a cup to his lips. He cursed when I tipped it too fast and a trickle of hot tea ran over his chin. After that, I would take a swallow and we would share it while we kissed. We drained the pot- and it was working, if the fluttery feeling under my skin was anything to judge by. The only downside was having to pee again. At least by then we had a system... And a good laugh as well.

I misted the designs one last time with the lemon sugar mixture and then reached for the last weapon in my sensual arsenal. By that point, we'd moved to the floor. He was lying on his side, reclined carefully, not really able to move much for fear of ruining the designs. I knelt beside him and rubbed a bit of clove oil between my palms.

"What's that for?" His nose twitched and his tongue came out to wet his lips as he caught the distinctive spicy scent.

"To test your endurance." One has to be very careful with clove oil. It can burn if it's not made properly or has additives. I make my own so that never happens. Mine is mild, made simply from steeping crushed cloves in sweet almond oil for a few days. It has a wonderful scent and flavor but only produces the very mildest tingling when applied to the skin. If you've ever sucked a clove, you know exactly what I'm talking about. I had the sudden urge to smoke a clove cigarette.

Or a flesh one.

He panted softly as I massaged his scrotum with my oiled hands and then groaned when I worked them up the length of his impressive cock, paying particular attention to the tip. When his hips started moving, I turned him loose.

"Christ." His long lashes closed over his golden eyes and I saw him trying hard to even out his breathing. "That's not fair." He was right, of course. I waited until his eyes opened and then dripped a few more drops into my hand and rubbed it over my one unadorned nipple and then down between my legs, shivering as the warm tingle began to creep along my skin.

"Happy now?"

That won me an enigmatic smile. "Happy isn't exactly the word I'd use, darlin'." He rose and sat on the edge of the nearest chair.

I put my hands on his knees and rubbed the insides of his legs lightly with my thumbs. "What word would you use then?"

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, as if he was listening to his body speak. His hips shifted in the chair. "Wantin'." He blew out slowly. "You got me jammed up real good here."

I sure did.

"How does it feel?" The henna paste on his back had dried to a deep rich

black but the lines on his hands and feet were still a deepening shade of green.

His eyelid flickered as he shifted slightly. "Tight." That would be the sugar. It pulled a bit as it dried. I'd been pretty liberal misting it because as it dried, it would make him more aware of every inch of his skin. "I like the smell..."

"But?"

A wry smile appeared. "But it's frustratin'." He shifted again. "It was nice before, but now..." He moved his hands up from where they'd been resting and then lowered them again. "Now I want..." He huffed softly, uncomfortable now and ready to move beyond this experience.

I knew exactly what he wanted. Which was the point of this evening. I wanted to put him off his stride a little. To inundate all his senses and confuse him- in a good way. Leave him helpless. Vulnerable. And then wind him up and see what happened.

He is so tactile. I knew not being able to touch while being given erotic stimulation would be incredibly hard for him. As hard as opening up and sharing this part of myself with him had been for me. I thought it would be a sensuous experience he would like. And to be honest, I knew watching him struggle with it (while sharing that same struggle) would be something I would like.

I took my hands away from his skin and his eyes opened. "Tell me what you want, Logan." My heart was beating fast and my skin felt funny from the henna on the outside and the tea working on the inside... all intensified by the presence of the naked aroused man in front of me.

"To touch ya." He fingers twitched. "I needta move. To fuck. To come." A dark fire burned in his eyes. "To make you come." He wet his lips and I saw his chin come up in triumph when he saw how his answer had made me press my legs together. I thought my body was tingling before... but now it ached. Dipping his head, he looked up at me through his dark lashes. "Now why dontcha tell _me_ how that makes _you_ feel."

Like he couldn't tell already? I knew he could smell how much I wanted him, even over the exotic scent of the henna.

"Makes me feel…. hungry." He still had that aura of calm assertive energy he always projected, but only just. It was starting to shift towards primal and wild. I moved into the space between his open knees but didn't touch him. I think I wanted to put my mouth on his cock as badly as he wanted to feel it there, but I said instead, "It makes me feel... needy. Wet. Empty inside." I knew he could feel my breath teasing over his groin so I kept talking. "It makes me want to feel you out of control. And the real truth is it makes me want to give up and sit straight down on you right this minute..."

"But you won't."

"But I won't."

He didn't beg me, but a clear droplet formed in the slit at his tip. When I blew on it, he shuddered. "Jesus fuck! More."

Oh, I was definitely planning on giving him more. Just not what he was expecting, is all. "It feels so good for me, Logan." His eyes opened and flicked hard to mine. "Coming with you deep inside."

He made a sort of rough growl. "Tell me."

I felt my hips sway with want.

"There's a satisfaction in the fullness even before the pleasure." Just the brush of my fingertip against his calf made him shiver. "It feels so good. A delicious building tightness that suddenly eases and washes over my whole body. I shake and my toes curl and my legs fall open... while inside, everything squeezes down. Sometimes I can feel your heartbeat inside me then." I slid a hand between my legs to cup myself and watched as his eyes followed it. "But even more than that, it's feeling my legs around you. Feeling you hold me close as the world spins away."

"That your favorite part?" I shook my head. His eyes followed the trail of black designs up my body. Our eyes met. "What is?"

"Watching you let go." He looked surprised. And pleased. "Feeling it happen inside me even as I see it on your face. Strain. Pleasure. Release. Satiation." I tickled my fingers down the backs of his legs, watching him shift uneasily. The drops at his tip had given way to a steady trickle. I could see a wet shine on his shaft. "I love how it feels inside, first the throbbing and then the slick heat that follows. So good, sugar." It also helped ease the last hard thrust he made that were usually deep and a little wild.

He groaned softly. "God."

"Tell me how it feels for you."

"Pressure. A... a drive. S'instinct. Get on top. Stay in deep..." He swallowed hard. He'd watched my reaction. Now he was watching his own. His eyes were glassy and he was less articulate than usual. But he did try. "I get harder. More sensitive. Can't stop it. Don't want to." The tip of his pink tongue came out to wet his dry lips.

"What happens?"

"If I'm on my back my hips come up."

"If you're on top?" I prompted.

"I hafta fuck... to move. When it's real good, I gotta hold ya down and go after it real hard." His crude, honest answer revealed the depth of his arousal. His calm assertiveness was cracking.

"What does it feel like?"

"Heat. Need." He was sweating. "Deep inside there's a... a gush. Pulsin'. Fluid. S'involuntary. I can't stop it."

"Then what?"

"Throbbin'... shakin'... Buckin' hard and gruntin' when it's real good." A shudder ran through his big body. "So spent after I can't even move sometimes. Somethin'- somethin' in my head tells me not to crush ya, but it happens real slow and I don't feel like movin' even though I should. I don't wanna give up what's makin' me feel so damned good."

"I love that. Love your weight on me."

"Yeah?"

"Oh yeah."

"I love how ya feel under me. So soft and good. Pantin'. Those little hands movin' all over me. Pullin' me into you." He was breathing hard. I was so close...

I wanted to know what would happen if I took this further. Wound him so tight he broke. What would watching me come do to him? What would watching his reaction do to me? I knelt back so he'd have a better view and brought my hand to my breast. Clove scented fingertips rubbed over a plump pink nipple.

"Do you remember the first time you touched a woman's naked breast?" His gaze seemed almost hypnotic as he watched my fingers roll and pluck and caress.

"The first time after I woke up in the snow, yeah."

"How did it feel?"

"Good. Excitin'." He watched my hand on my breast. "Harder. I'd do it harder than that, girl. Make ya arch into me."

I pinched sharply enough to hurt just right and groaned low in my throat. "Mmm... it feels so good, Logan. I love to feel you touch me that way."

He said nothing but his breathing had become erratic.

We spiraled closer to the flames. "Do you remember how it felt the first time you made a woman come?"

This time he only nodded.

I slipped my hand down, rubbing and touching. Wanting to sharpen the memory for him, I raised my hand and brushed my wet fingertips over his lips. He tried to suck them but I pulled them away. He growled in frustration.

I wanted just the scent on his mouth and the taste on his lips to marry up with the image swaying before his eyes so it would trigger that old memory stronger than ever. I wanted the visual and the sensory combined with the passion in his body and the images in his head to be a sort of sensual overload for him, especially as he was denied movement and touch. That it was of his own volition only made a good thing that much sweeter.

Nothing chained him but his own desire to let me take us somewhere new.

"Can you remember how it felt when she let you put your fingers under the lace and you felt naked flesh...?" My actions mirrored my words and I felt myself break into a sweat. I could feel the flush. So close. "Wet and hot..."

"Tight." He growled the word low and deep.

"Slick." I pushed two fingers deep inside. His fingers flexed involuntarily at the sight. "Not as good as you feel..." I gasped out, teetering on the edge. "I want... I want to feel you shove hard into me. Deep." Inside was warm and creamy and wet. Fluttering. "I can feel it... I'm so close, sugar… so close."

"Just a little more, baby. C'mon!" His voice was low and desperate. Rough.

"Mmm! Yes! So good!" I rode my fingers hard.

"Christ!" His eyes were glued between my legs.

"Unnnnhhhh! Logan!" I trembled as I came, keening his name low and long and breathless. The watcher became the watched. And for once, it felt good. Exciting. Seeing his reaction to it was even better. His body was taut. Shaking. He flinched when I withdrew my fingers from my body and rested them on his trembling thigh.

"Fuck! Help me, baby. Touch me! Suck me! Somethin'! I needta-" Under my fingertips his muscles were rock hard with tension.

"You remember the first time a girl slipped her hand in your pants and touched you there?" His hands flexed again. He was thinking of her touch. And mine. He wanted to touch himself. He wanted to come and was trying to hold it back at the same time. "How proud you felt when the size scared her a little." It was a guess, but not too far from the mark if his expression was anything to judge by. I'd know. I felt the same way the first time I saw him excited too.

He grunted. "Yeah." Cocky now. Arrogant. He knew what his body did to women.

"Remember how she squeezed and you nearly spurted all over?" His head fell back, his breath coming in sharp pants. "Remember the taste of her? The wet heat? How it felt to push in deep that first time..." His hips were rocking. He was making animal noises deep in his throat. I squeezed hard on his thighs with my hands and blew warm breath all over the tingling oil that slicked his weeping cock.

"Nnnnngggg... Marie! Baby, please!"

I turned his own words back on him. "Get on top. Stay in deep. Throbbing, shaking, bucking so hard because it feels so damned good... all slick and tight. It's instinct. Come on, sugar! Come!" I dug my nails into his thighs. He tried to stop himself but couldn't. His hips rocked violently, juddering up as he ejaculated streams of creamy white over his chest and

belly.

There. There he goes.

"Unnhh! Unnnngh! Fuck!" God that's hot.

"Yes, sugar! Yes!" Just a little more now.

"Umph!"

There was so much come. It caught in his navel and in the valleys between the rows and swirls of henna. I could feel his muscles going rigid under my palms, again and again, but most erotic of all, I could see a rhythmic pulsing at the base of his cock as his body worked to pump out his semen. It made me want to put my mouth there. So I did. And feeling that cyclical flexing under my lips and tongue made me come again.

That surprised us both. I couldn't resist taking him into my mouth at the end. Sucking the last of his pleasure from him. Helping him ride out the last of it.

We were both dazed afterwards. It was as intense as penetrative sex in some ways. Almost more intimate in others. I wondered if this was the first time he'd ever come without being touched. I'd never made a man do that before. It was the embodiment of my every voyeuristic fantasy.

I knelt up and licked at the thick stripes of pearly fluid on his chest and thighs, cleaning him softly with my mouth as best I could around the henna.

His eyes glowed as I sat back and rubbed my fingers over my belly, showing him how much I liked having him inside me in every way.

Our every sense had been filled up and wrung out until we were spent and trembling and weak. I'm not even sure how we managed to drag ourselves to the bathroom where we brushed the crumbling bits of henna from each other's skin. He liked that part. Once the dried bits are removed, you have to seal the designs with oil first and wait a few hours before you shower. He purred with pleasure as I rubbed him all over with warm sweet almond oil.

He was tired, but he massaged it into my skin too. Clearly, he was glad to have the use of his hands back again and we chatted quietly while we worked, in that loose easy way new lovers have when they're satiated and lethargic. We smiled a lot. Sighed. Kissed and teased.

"What the hell was in that tea, baby?"

That got a smile from me. "Let's just say it was part of the treatment."

Logan's laugh echoed off the tile. "You got any extra to spare?"

I stroked his soft length playfully. "Do you?"

And you know? I reckon we worked out a satisfactory trade... just before we curled up in an old blanket and fell asleep. We were too tired to shower anyway. A nap was just the thing... and then a shower later.

I couldn't wait for tomorrow when the faint designs would deepen to a rich pumpkin color, perfect for tracing with kisses.

The day after that they'd be a rich deep chocolate.

And you know me.

Death by chocolate has always been my prefered way to go...

* * *

Author's note: Y'all are awesome! Thanks so much for the wonderful response to this pair of stories. It's entirely possible I'll revisit this Logan and Marie (and Houdini!) again in the future. Feedback is always appreciated; the good, the bad, the ugly welcome. It feeds the muses and also lets me know which bits resonate, which don't, and what you might like to see in the future. Ideas and bunnies are always welcome, too. :)

Coming down the pipeline next:

**Cry the Moon**  
Logan meets a Cree girl at a bar in Mexico. She wants to make a memory. He wants to forget. Logan/OC, W/R (A "Run" outtake.)

**In Limine**  
At the threshold. On a mission for Xavier, a random meeting between the wildest X-Man and a sharp lawyer with a Southern drawl sets fire to the night. AU W/R

**In Pride's Shadow  
**Monstrous dark things live in the shadows and the Wolverine is the darkest of them all. W/R, W/OC Dark. AU

**A Work of Heart  
**Logan comes back from Japan to find a very different Marie than he remembers. Chalk. Ink. Gouache. Watercolor. A young artist reveals a man's heart, one colorful stroke at a time. W/R

**Shine Against Me  
**Logan and Marie and talk about pornography… and then things get crazy. 20+ chapters (and counting!)

**Walk the Line  
**Marie comes back after taking the Cure. "She'd always defend him though, even now – powerless and helpless, and they both knew it. It didn't even need saying. The care of this beautiful man was written in her bones." 9 chapters (at least 4 more to go)

_And for those of you who've read this far…. lol I have a W/R novel that I've started that I'm unlikely to finish anytime soon (if ever). Y'all interested in the first five chapters of that one?:_

**Fine Art**  
After being on her own for several years, Marie returns to the mansion. Things get painted. Sparks fly. AU


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